The Power of Gods
by OregTheMad
Summary: Richilieu is a brilliant youth adept at observing his peers from afar, however when O.O., a self-proclaimed "Immortal", approaches him with a tempting offer, he is thrust into a hidden world where a more hands on approach is necessary, even for survival.
1. Prologue

(Yes, OCs. Yes, another genius type. Yes, I'm fairly unoriginal. But it'll be good, I swear. Updates... Whenever. Depends on the reaction and how I feel about it.

As well, comments are welcome, constructive criticism is encouraged, and praise is obligatory. :P

Anyway, welcome to the show. Time to introduce our protagonists. Fairly short, as this is just a prologue. Enjoy.)

"And you swear to me that this thing, this power, is legitimate?"

Twilight covered the landscape as, on the outskirts of the Shinjuku ghetto, a pair spoke. One of the two, clearly the taller, was barely discernable through the light as a male, somewhat slim in build, with hands buried deeply into pockets. His dress consisted of a thick, fully zipped, black jacket that easily altered his perceived size, and simple cargo jeans, baggy in nature. On his nose rested a pair of polarized glasses, now transparent as the sun took its leave. His hair, a dark, curly mess, covered his head, shielding his eyes from the sky and his ears from the air.

"So long as you uphold your own end of the bargain. I'd hate to be bored."

The latter voice, far more feminine in nature than the first, addressed again the boy. Her build, while perhaps not slim, was nonetheless attractive, her curves speaking of her ability to seduce far more than any words she could utter. Her eyes, mischievous and even a little detached from the world, shone blue, something that went extremely well with her own back-length crystaline colored hair. Whatever she wore was concealed by a long coat, no doubt used to shield her from the unnatural chill that seemed to permeate the night's air.

"But, shouldn't this be impossible, this Geass?"

Skepticism, perhaps even hope, sounded in this teen's mind. If what she was offering him was real, then it left little doubt as to Zero's method of coercing Lord Jeremiah Gottweld. Zero was no miracle, but the product thereof.

"It should. It isn't."

The girl's demeanor showed as she answered his question with not much more than the wave of a hand. Her petite nose wrinkled suddenly, looking almost offended at the grotesque smells surrounding her. The Shinjuku ghetto perhaps hadn't been the best place to call her chosen item.

Silence suddenly accompanied the cold in the night air, the only faded sounds coming from Knightmares far off in the distance. Thoughts were, no doubt, rushing in and out of the boy's mind.

"Why choose me?"

"You seem interesting enough." She answered quickly, no doubt expecting the question at some point in time. "And I trust that you won't let that interest wane, now that you have such an ability."

"I'm... Interesting?" He seemed confused. Shouldn't such a great power as this be used for more than amusement?

"But of course. I'd assumed that was a compliment. Was I mistaken?"

"No, no, it's just..." A genuine worry seemd to enter the boy's eyes, discernable even through the smothering darkness that now overcame the sun's final efforts at day. If a being who could grant such a thing had the only requirement as 'being interesting', her view on man and perhaps even life itself would likely be put far out of a healthy perspective. Still, this offer intrigued him, despite its inherent dangers. For once words escaped him as he attempted to pierce the armor of her mind. The only things he could ascertain were that, one, she was infinitely bored. It's likely she had high standards for entertainment, and the current Zero incident had left her wanting.

Two, and perhaps most interestingly, she appeared to have some similar mannerisms to those of Britannian nobility. She herself, however, bore no mark nor resemblence to any that he could immediately draw to mind. She had presented no family seal, crest, or anything to distinguish her from the masses, and, yet, if she were attempting to hide her noble roots, she would have likely at least attempted to act more as a commoner. Nonetheless, the most logical conclusion the teen could assume was that she was an, albeit eccentric, noble.

"Well, perhaps I am interesting, but you're not exactly average yourself. Dyed hair, this pow-"

"It's not dyed."

He paused, and, despite his best efforts at establishing a persona of confidence, he faltered with a roll of the eyes. The muttered words, "Of course..." sarcastically slipped through the bars of his tongue.

"This power, too, of course. Plus your name; O.O., was it? All of this I, personally, would consider interesting..."

"But you're not _really _interested in that. You only want to know me to prove to yourself that you can crack me; to understand me. Believe me, I've watched you. I know what you're capable of, why you're capable of it, and why you _desire_ to be capable of it.."

He blinked, his attempts at a persona now totally abandoned. She had seen through him, and she had done it before he'd even established to himself the necessity. There was another short pause as the boy contemplated his next move, however, that was shortly interrupted by a rather loud yawn emanating from the girls mouth, and a casual flick of the wrist to check the time.

"Well, I believe we've spoken enough. Is it a deal?"

Cursing and praising her insight simultaneously, the teen shook his head in disgust at both himself and her casual approach. The call to power, however, was far too tempting to ignore, and calls like this tended not to leave messages. "Very well. I, Richilieu Marquis LeDieu, accept your Geass."

For the first time that evening, a genuine smile passed over her lips. "Very well. Don't forget your end of the bargain." She giggled, and spun around on a heel. Now that she had reason to laugh, she did. At last, fun would begin again!

Her trot began in the exact opposite direction from what she'd been facing, even her nose loosening up and ignoring the stench as the euphoria of expectation filled her senses.

"I'm counting on you, Mr. Noble God."


	2. Chapter One

Chapter 1: Like a Breath of Fresh Air, O.O.

Richilieu lay on his bed, sheets ruffled, pillows and comforter thrown off, and eyes, despite his best efforts, stubbornly open. To his side, a metallic night stand stood, wobbling on three of its four feet. On it, a lone digital clock read '0345'. The rest of the room appeared to have been ransacked, rented history books from the local library strewn across haphazardly, having long since given up on any sense of order. His desk, seated directly across from the bed in the relatively tiny 20x15 ft. room, loomed twice as tall as it normally would, having had its height augmented via heaps upon mounds of handwritten essays, books, manuscripts, and whatever else have you. His finely polished wooden floor wept as its brilliance was dulled with piled volumes of books on the occult and magical happenings, as well as many a dictionary, from Oxford to Scientific to Philosophic to Occult, strewn with pages open to the word 'Geass'. In fact, the only segments of the room that seemed to be devoid of literature appeared to be the walls, and, even then, the sill of his now drawn window was not immune to the effects. Needless to say, the past weekend had been quite the study.

_All I've been able to discern, despite my best efforts, was that Geass is a product of the Britannian government, and even then I had needed two days and two nights to even gather the information necessary to infer that. But this raises more questions than it answers, namely the involvement __**of**__ Britannia. How high exactly does this go? A Duke? A Baron? The royal line itself? Dammit, I shouldn't have let her go! That stupid bitch left me high and dry with this Geass, this power that I barely even understand!_

This last statement, however, could be taken the wrong way. Richilieu indeed understood a great deal of his Geass, the power to possess another person at will.

_Likely a reflection of my ability to read others and establish a false persona of my own. If such is the case, does this mean Zero was always able to order others, since his is most likely the power to command?_

This wasn't all he understood, though.

_Up to a range of 250 ft., if I make direct eye contact with a person, I may possess them for a period of thirty minutes, maximum, (during which my body remains dormant in a pseudo-comatose state), after which time I return to my body regardless of location or condition. Things such as eye glasses and sunglasses do not hinder my ability, however, I cannot be recorded and possess someone, nor can I do any such thing through a camera. It must be my own eyes that see theirs. I can also safely assume that I need be the only one that sees the other. There is no limit to how many times I may cast it, and I may cast it on any given person as many times as I wish. As well, I may transfer from one person to another in mid-geass, the process of which not resetting the half-hour timer. It also seems that whomever I possess has no recollection of what I've done whilst in their body. _

What he meant was that he understood nothing of where it came, why it existed, and how it worked. These were the facts that eluded his ever-curious mind, and these very same facts gnawed at his psyche as a hamster might do a piece of wood. With quite the superiority complex, having always been able to read his fellow man as an instruction manual to their thoughts, this inability to discover irked him to a degree he'd thought himself unable to feel.

Suddenly, a creak. Eyes shooting open even further, Richilieu ignored his basic senses to start, instead remaining in exactly the same position.

_The loose board outside the door. Is someone attempting to enter?_

A shadow choked the minuscule volume of light that struggled to stray under the door, having itself started once the noise was made. Its owner likely hadn't been expecting evidence of poor maintenance in such a, as one of Richilieu's classmates had put it, 'ritzy' place.

_My options aren't varied. If it's a burglar, which is likely the worst reasonable scenario I can infer, it's not suggested that I attempt to converse with him. He'll be resolute if he's a veteran, and panicky if he's a novice; neither case allows me much room to manipulate. However, if I could disguise myself as a-_

His thought process was cut off as the door opened, flooding the depressingly devoid of light room with the dim hope of a bulb at the end of its life.

_That silhouette. Is it really her?_

The flick of a light switch by the fumbling hands of his intruder revealed a young girl, curvacious and busty, with hair as crystal and eyes as the dangerous and mystifying depths of the ocean. Her long coat was coated with water, as well as her hair, and she almost appeared to shiver at the arctic temperatures commonly kept by LeDieu.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't think you'd be awake."

Richilieu, of course, was very much awake. The proof of this could be seen as he, in one fluid motion, stood and stamped over to the girl, angrily demanding, (Likely the result of his defeat by means of lack of information,) of her one query.

"What in the bloody Hell does Britannia have to do with Geass?"

O.O., rather than provide a straight answer, only calmly glanced once around his abode, her mouth resisting the urge to whistle at the impressive volume of material. "I assume this question stems from your amass of information regarding," She casually bent down and retrieved a dictionary, dripping water on the yellowed pages. "Geass?"

"Don't answer my question with a question." This time his voice was more restrained, having gotten over the initial shock of seeing her under such circumstances.

"Then I suppose I can drop a hint, if it'll make things more interesting." She smirked, her snowy teeth barely showing through her lips. Looking up at him and meeting his eyes, O.O. stated, with both malicious taunting and genuine concern in her voice, "Britannia granted me this ability, and, believe me, they did it on purpose."

A grimace formed on Richilieu's lips as he took another step forward, narrowing the space between their bodies to a mere inch. "I had assumed as much."

"Ah, good, then I didn't underestimate you." A giggle from the speaker and a pseudo-growl from the spoken.

"I'm not the first. In fact, there were at least two others before me."

One hundred eighty degrees and the teen was already pacing his room. Almost as quickly as his retreat were his words spoken.

"So it's a secret project?"

"I said _a _hint."

"How high does it go?"

"I can't say."

"How long has it been happening?"

"I, quite honestly, don't know that one."

"Are you implying that you know the answer to the former question?"

"Oops, guess you caught me there."

Turning around, murderous eyes glared at this young girl who both gave him hope and dashed his ambitions. Just as they were about to shoot daggers, though, his mind suddenly seemed to comprehend the effect that sixty five degrees Fahrenheit could have on damp skin and clothing.

A sigh escaped him rather than the inevitable beratement. "Would you like to change out of your wet clothes? I realize that it's raining."

In fact, he'd never realized the fact. The flying water had been blowing against the opposite side of the dorms, so the not-so-ubiquitous patter of liquid on brick had never met his ears.

"I would, thank you."

She wasted no time. Immediately stripping her jacket, Richilieu's eyes barely had enough time to widen as he forced them to turn away, averting his gaze from the now lifted black shirt and the exposed white bra.

Looking up at his sudden silence, she stifled a chuckle, settling for a conniving smirk. "What, you don't like what you see?" She took off her shirt fully now, tossing it carelessly to the side. Playfully, she meandered over to him, relishing in the sudden power she had over him. Hands on his shoulders and breasts putting an ever-so slight pressure on his back, her voice, barely audible, sounded in his ear. "C'mon, it's nothing you haven't seen before, right? Especially with _your_ particular set of talents."

She had him. She had caught him off guard only to taunt him with his weakness of respect. Was she not above revealing herself to control others? And, for that matter, her voice indicated an enjoyment of the event.

_She enjoys this, she enjoys knowing she's better, knowing that she can manipulate me... And she's taunting me with it!_

Breaking from her grasp and turning back around, he glared. He would not lose this game, and he would prove to her that he was above such manipulation. He would not be subject to anyone's command, even at the expense of social conventions.

And then, of course, his resolution was broken by the sudden sight of exposed cleavage. His cheeks reddened, and he again turned away, fearful of his primitive lusts.

A genuine laugh escaped her lips as she fluidly turned around, nearly doubling over in amusement. Delicately, she unhooked the bra and let it fall to the ground.

"We're not going to have to do that again with my panties, are we?" It was clear her tone was mocking, not at all attempting to conceal her enjoyment of his torment.

Gritted teeth was his response. _I won't be shamed in this way again, O.O...._

"Regardless, we can talk in the morning." O.O. spoke, yawning. Richilieu dared a look behind him, discovering that the girl was already in the process of slipping one of his shirts over her head, the neck itself almost exposing that which he had been defeated by. Smirking, she dove for his bed, landing on it with an impressive bounce.

Again, poor Richilieu struggled to argue. "Indeed we can. Off of my bed, please." Carefully maneuvering around the volumes that O.O. had simply stepped on, he eventually made his awkward way over to the side of the bed.

"Nuh uh, to the victor go the spoils." A small chuckle, and O.O. was buried chin deep in his comforter, having already gathered his assorted bedding from the ground adjacent. "And I think we both realize that I won that one."

Gritted teeth met her. "_Off_ my _bed, __**please**__..." _

Disappointed eyes met him. "Aw, c'mon. I haven't had a real bed in a while..." Grabbing her collar and pulling only slightly on it, she threatened to expose herself yet again. Seductively, she continued her argument. "What do I need to do to convince you...?" A finger to her lip only added to the effect, noticeably shaking the normally controlled student. Cheeks reddening, but his mind refusing to let him retreat once again, Richilieu defied at least one of his instincts.

"We can _discuss _it in the _morning._ _**Out.**_"

A pout. "Fine, meanie. But I'll remember this." A threat? Certainly. An empty one? Probably. Throwing the comforter up in the air, not particularly caring where it went, O.O., sighing, delicately climbed off. "I'll be asleep on your couch then. Night." A slam of the door, and she was gone.

Sighing himself, Richilieu lay down on the bed, none of his questions answered, and at least fifty more presented. Nonetheless, he'd at least accomplished something this evening, even if that something had literally thrown itself at his doorstep. O.O. was the most vast source of information he had, and she knew it. However, on the other side of the coin, Richilieu was the most vast source of entertainment she had, and he knew _that_.

_O.O., I can't help but feel our relationship will be a very strained one, despite however necessary it is. Nonetheless, I intend to carry our contract through to the end. I simply pray you do, as well._

---

Ashford Academy was certainly a school for the affluent, whether privileged or otherwise. Despite rank of birth, it was money that allowed one to enter the campus in the end. Of course this inevitably lead to a large supply of nobility, such as Kallen Stadtfeld, Millay Ashford herself, and, of course, (Albeit unbeknownst to his classmates), Lelouch Vi Britannia. However, commoners were not unhead of, and it was in this latter group that, despite his very aristocratic name, Richilieu Marquis LeDieu belonged.

"Rich, yo!"

This, of course, amounted to the lack of respect he received from those that _were_ nobility.

A loud banging sounded throughout Richilieu's entire dorm room as someone slammed on the entrance room door.

"We've got like five minutes, you awake?"

More banging forced open the groggy eyes of Richilieu, who, despite his fatigue, still had the sense to turn his head to the left.

_0730? I've only had three and a half hours to sleep..._

And then he noticed the far smaller, but far more important, indicator in the lower left corner of the clock.

_MON..._

"Oh crap!" He shouted, his torso immediately rising, forcing off of it the forearm of O.O., who had apparently slept by the boy's side clad in only a T-shirt three sizes too large. Having no time to even notice her state of under-dress, nor even process the fact that she had apparently crawled into bed with him, he paid her only minor notice as he dashed across the room, literally diving into his closet and forcing on the school's jacket and dress pants, attempting to miraculously put the pair on whilst simultaneously taking his previous wear off.

"Gimme a minute!" He shouted, barely opening doors before sliding through. Jacket unbuttoned, pants half-off, he emerged from his under-decorated living room into the stylized and regal hallway. Portraits hung of emperors past, founders of major institutions, benefactors to the school, and, of course, Lady Ashford herself. Potted plants stood proud on stands at regular intervals in the halls, and the rug stretching its extremities from one end to the other held with it an ornate and intricate pattern in each of the school's colors.

The seriousness of the setting only augmented the hilarity of Richilieu's unprepared appearance. Thankfully for the unranked child, only he who called him was immediately present.

"Bit casual there, eh?" Charles (Named for the current 98th Emperor of Britannia. His family actively sought a promotion in rank, and surely such a passive maneuver couldn't hurt.) remarked, chuckling a bit.

The newcomer was, at least in comparison to Richilieu, fairly built, as one might say. His ancestors having been knights, the son of a Baron was naturally muscular, semblances of tone showing even through the layers of clothing. His facial structure was no exception, and even his jaw looked as if it could take a punch from a golem. Straightened hair carelessly strewn across his face, partially concealing his black eyes, he began his dash down the hall. "Well, c'mon then! Class starts soon!"

Richilieu, however, only sighed, pulling up his pants and casually buttoning his jacket as he strolled down the hall, the soles of his shoes barely audible against the plush floor.

_O.O. won't reveal herself; she'd be afraid of ruining the game she's set up. She may not stay in the room, but at the very least she won't reveal that she knows me, nor that she even has a dormitory here. As a best case scenario, she simply will stay put, despite the incredible amount of hope that statement contains. Worst case... Well, worst case is that she'll decide to present me with a challenge._

A worried voice sounded from the end of the hall. "Aren't you at all worried about being late?"

A nonchalant voice responded. "I'm already late. Why rush the inevitable?"

A laugh. "That from one of your philosophy books?"

A chuckle. "That was my own, actually."

_Charles, you're far too carefree and nonchalant to be a noble. I suppose that's one reason why I like you, but your honesty is truly what impresses me. There hasn't been a moment since we met that I've observed you in the act of a lie. I've no idea if you're one of the few good people in the world or if you're simply naive, but even if it's, perhaps, a foolish strategic move, I respect you _

_highly for it._

_Others. Kallen, Lelouch, Semore, Millay, and damn near everyone else at this school. They all have something to conceal. Their deception is enough to fool others, but from my omniscient eyes, they can't hide._

A bell sounded. Charles was already far gone, but Richilieu himself had only just emerged from the dorm building. A careless yawn escaped his lips as his feet carried him forward, unwillingly, to Britannian History.

_Such a day shouldn't be wasted inside..._ He pondered, looking around at the serene setting. Green trees, blue sky, pleasantly upkept buildings and gardens; it would certainly pass as remarkable even in the homeland.

"Why was I even in such a rush this morning?" The question was asked aloud to no one in particular, his eyes even averting themselves skyward in a vague attempt to aid the thinking process.

"Heh, I must've deceived myself into thinking I cared. It's the natural reaction when one's late, I suppose, to attempt to rush." Reaching up in a habitual manner, Richilieu attempted to reset his glasses on the bridge of his nose. The only problem, of course, was that his glasses were lacking in presence.

"... Crap..."

Sighing and searching every pocket, it was only a few seconds before the poor boy determined that he'd left them back in his dorm room. Spinning around on a heel, he attempted to face from whence he came, only to come face to face with Millay Ashford. The busty blonde's deceivingly serene eyes playfully glared, disapprovingly, at Richilieu, seeming to pierce his eyes and enter directly his soul. One could say that she had a gift similar to Richilieu's geass, in this manner. Hands were menacingly put on the hips of her heavy green and muted yellow uniform as she spoke.

"Richilieu, c'mon! We're considering you for Student Council, and you can't even be bothered to come to class? We can't afford two Lulus!" Her shrill tone. Even if one understood nothing of what she said, the effect one's ears got was likely the physical equivalent of her beratement.

"I... What?"

And, keeping true to form, the only thing Richilieu had gotten out of that statement was that Millay Ashford was considering him for Student Council. Now, to Richilieu, this meant three things.

First and foremost, it would be a _lot_ of paperwork.

Two, when Millay said, 'considering', she _meant_, 'planning to kidnap'.

And three, that it would be an excellent opportunity to observe Lelouch further, whom Richilieu had caught some odd body language from whilst the two were viewing a rerun of the Zero Incident in Current Events.

"C'mon, to class you go!" With a firm slap on the back and a guiding hand, Millay somehow managed to lead a somewhat dazed Richilieu to the entrance of the history building before he could break from his thoughts long enough to form a coherent sentence.

"Wait, what are you doing out of class?!" Suddenly he stopped, digging his heels in the ground in a desperate effort to avoid entering the doors to a florescent Hell. "A bit hypocritical, don't you think?" Head desperately snapped back, eyes pleading, Richilieu tried valiantly to use his skills in manipulation.

"_I'm_ actually doing errands for several of the professors. And your excuse?" She smirked in playful victory, daring him to find such a thing. Unfortunately for him, Millay Ashford was infinitely resolute.

"_I _didn't get much sleep." A sigh and a smirk. This, at least, was an optional defeat, as he'd already deemed it too much effort to go against her steadfast persona now. He'd simply have to resign to his fate of an hour-long lesson in propaganda.

A roll of the eyes and she was at it again. "Guts! C'mon, suck it up! Get in there!" Ever enthusiastic, the sheer force of her eagerness forced the student through the doors and begrudgingly searching for his class number. Waving him off with a tad of mocking, she continued on her way, becoming concealed behind opaque walls.

_I just wish she'd let me have my glasses._

---

"Thus, from an aid to escape to a force in and of itself, the knightmare has served Britannia well for the past half-century, saving lives and maintaining Britannian dominance with its superior fire power and maneuverability. Thank you."

Half-hearted applause for the half-hearted report sounded throughout the ears of the students as Richilieu took his seat. The report had been nothing more than a concoction thought up minutes prior, but nonetheless would likely land him a B, at least.

_They force so much propaganda down your throat that its no wonder I was able to pull that off. This entire system is a joke._

The classroom followed the example of every other public section of the school. Regal in style, large arching windows, portraits and plants and pottery abound. It wouldn't be surprising, Richilieu pondered, if they'd spent more on decor than on tuition. However, it wasn't the interior design that the student was focused on, nor was it the actual lesson at hand. In fact, it was Lelouch Lamperouge, who also, Richilieu noted, seemed a tad out of his element. Hands interlocked and covering his nose, eyes to the desk, a slump to rival that of Quasimodo; all were indicators of one deeply in thought. Richilieu, however, simply wasn't good enough to determine exactly what it was that troubled him.

_His mind is on something, but what I can't say. If I'm to infer from before, however, I'd have to assume it's about Zero. His body language no doubt indicates that he's personally familiar with him, if I'm to trust my prior observations, anyway, but I really don't see how. Surely Lelouch is brilliant, but for a masked terrorist to consult him? Or perhaps this has to deal with his hatred I've noticed of Britannia and its king. Am I misinterpreting familiarity with identification? No, I'd never make such an amateur mistake. I'm no armchair psychologist. But then what? What connection could the two possibly have...?_

_He... He couldn't actually __**be**__ Zero, could he? Zero's mask and cloak make it insanely difficult to determine his base characteristics, but from what I've been able to discern about both of their personalities... No, that's too broad a conclusion to even be considered right now. Remain objective; don't jump to conclusions. All I can determine about Lelouch at this point is that he is somehow familiar with Zero. Nothing more, nothing less. _

_... However, my dilemma can be remedied. _

A hand absentmindedly reached upward to conceal his right eye. After all, wasn't this Geass to be used to solve problems he couldn't on his own? To make easy what was once difficult? To make a god out of men?

_LeDieu... Well, let's once again prove my family's name correct. Lelouch Lamperouge, all of your secrets will soon be revealed, as not even you will be able to conceal yourself from me.  
_

Yet, even as he thought this, he couldn't help but glimpse from the corner of his eye Lelouch observing him as well, his eyes ever so slightly turned in Richilieu's direction. Though the hidden Britannian royal had little reaction to his tiny display, (A smirk and a hand on one's face, after all, weren't causes for alarm,), Richilieu himself felt that perhaps Lelouch's eyes had opened a bit wider after his cloaking of the eye.


	3. Chapter Two

((Oh O.O., you joker you.))

---

Chapter 2: A Man Among Nobles, A God Among Men, Richilieu Marquis LeDieu

"The tendency of plans to fall apart," Richilieu continued, gently picking up battered volumes of forgotten lore and stacking them neatly in a corner of his bedroom, "Is not because they aren't built to enough of a precision, but because they are built _too_ precisely. Their rigidness doesn't account for variables." With a pant, books were laid down on one another, a breathless Richilieu wiping his brow and smiling with satisfaction at his work. The wood on his floor, now once again able to show its brilliance, shown to be a rather disappointingly bland color of brown, only saved by the remarkable sheen it still possessed, regardless.

"Which is why, I suppose, yours is painfully vague?" Her sardonic and monotonous tone bit at Richilieu's pride, perhaps prodding the boy into the hidden sneer he gave her as his back was turned. O.O. had apparently decided that pants were at least appropriate until bedtime, and had opted for an older pair of Richilieu's jeans that fit her remarkably well. The oversized black shirt that she'd chosen the night before, however, still remained.

"It's vague enough to allow for adjustments on the fly." He retorted simply, turning around rather purposefully to face her. Education for the day had only just ended, and, even though the sun still shone as brilliantly as ever, LeDieu only kept his blinds drawn, leaving the only source of light in the room as a single lamp on his night stand, casting an ominous shadow on the both of them. Lelouch would likely be out gambling and not return until later tonight, giving Richilieu a prime opportunity to invade his residence.

"Now, I'll have you in here for the evening. Even if I may be able to adjust my plans, I won't have you introducing a variable that can just as easily be avoided." Rolling her eyes, she gave a mumble that could be somehow construed as an affirmative, rolling from her stomach onto her back as she rested on Richilieu's bed, eyes gazing absently at the ceiling.

"I suppose I'll lie here, then, and eagerly await your return, _master_." She scoffed, pouting at the misfortune of her confinement. Richilieu, not caring to answer such a prod, simply shrugged, striding over to his closet to address a mewing.

"I'll return within the half-hour. I'll ask you not to touch my body in the meantime."

"Uh huh." A halfhearted and, most likely, insincere response, the likes of which he could only shake his head at.

"Very well." The closet door opened to reveal, among piles of books, DVDs, and dirty laundry, a cage containing within it a very specific animal: Arthur, the resident stray cat. Mostly gray with a spot over its eye, the creature had hardly a thing obvious about it, which, in this situation, served Richilieu greatly. Its inconspicuousness would allow the pseudo spy easy access into Lelouch's quarters, which themselves would allow the pseudo psychologist access into Lelouch's mind. Fingers interlocking around its handle, Arthur's prison was lifted through the air and into the dim light, the poor thing brought to face its captor, meeting him with a sharp hiss. A smirk was Richilieu's only answer to the creature, gladly exiting the room to lay on his single couch.

His living room, too, was nothing to gawk at. The same bland colored floor shone underneath a single ornate sofa and a wooden television stand of similar make. A lone widescreen television, LCD in design, stood atop it, still staticy due to its recent use by O.O. This room, too, was dimly lit; single dying bulb in a socket overhead struggled to perform its duty, and everywhere darkly colored clothing, cloth, and wood did their damndest to absorb as much light as possible; with a lack of windows, it was becoming fairly obvious that Richilieu should have been born a cave troll.

As he took his place among cushions and stuffing, Richilieu gently placed the hissing cat, within its container, of course, upon his lap, looking into its murderous eyes. Simultaneously unlocking the container with a flick and activating his Geass, his eyes glowed, the supernatural power he'd been granted now activating and taking part in its first real use. Arthur's hissing was quieted for a moment as he pondered this abnormal event, however, was soon overtaken by a strong sensation. Richilieu's spirit overriding the cat's, a few moments of black was all the transition that took place as he suddenly found himself with a very limited field of vision, staring his own comatose corpse in the torso. (The container had likely fallen into his lap in those few seconds.)

Giving the feline equivalent of a confident smirk, Richilieu strode out, his gait as graceful as the cat he was supposed to be. Muscle memory likely served him well here. Gently putting his paw on his thigh, he attempted a leap off of the couch, arcing through the air with the majesty of His Majesty himself...

However, he landed flat on his, or, rather, Arthur's face. With no carpet as a softener of the blow, he could only wait for the pain to subside as he lay there, disgraced and dazed. O.O. only suppressed a laugh as she watched from the door frame, smothering a cacophonous chortle in favor of a few small giggles.

"Well, Richilieu, I suppose some cats don't land on their feet, hmm?"

A groan from the feline and a half-hearted glare. Struggling up and flitting his tail, Richilieu continued his stride out, slinking through the cracked open door.

---

The sheer shining brightness that he experienced from the sun outside was ridiculous, the cat's light detecting rods screaming in agony. Richilieu had to keep his head toward the ground as he strolled across campus, taking care to step over glass and particularly sharp pebbles. He at last reached his goal of Lelouch's dorm's door, which was, thankfully, open. (Thank God he'd apparently decided to order pizza. But whose voice was that? Certainly not Nunally's, and he didn't dare look up for fear of blinding himself again.) This port showed a far more aristocratic room than Richilieu could ever hope for. Plush carpet, ornate furniture, mahogany desks and picture frames; truthfully, the boy found himself a bit jealous. Internally sighing, he continued, carefully hopping down and staggering before regaining his balance, claws automatically extending into the fiber to keep him on balance.

Having only a rudimentary knowledge of the layout, Richilieu could only assume that he was currently in the trio's living room, meaning that bedrooms were only a slight distance away.

_The most difficult challenge here will only be meeting the half-hour limit. I've already used up ten via my walk over, so this entire task will have to be done in twenty. There won't be any issues if the house is empty, as I've assumed. _

The universe, of course, disagreed. No sooner had he stepped into the hallway than a green-haired girl with waist length hair stepped from what Richilieu could only assume to be behind him carrying with her a slice of... Something. Really, the cat had dashed away too quickly to even be bothered to get a good glimpse of her. He could only observe that she was wearing something very loose and very white and had a very slim build.

_Who the Hell is she?_ He wondered, chancing to peak his head around the corner, ear twitching as the vent activated and blew air onto him. Now having time to observe, he could safely say that the girl was very attractive, rather busty, anyway, and with a kind of lazy stride. Her eyes appeared to be in a state of perpetual ambivalence, and, along with the rest of her persona, Richilieu could determine that she didn't care much for the world. In addition, her wear appeared to be a sort of modified straight jacket, which, he truthfully didn't understand the purpose behind.

_Is she trying to state that she's bound to something? This place, perhaps? I haven't seen her around campus at all, so maybe she's hiding here with Lelouch? That would be odd, though, wouldn't it?_

But, then, wasn't he in a similar position? Putting up O.O., after all, was certainly a similar situation.

_But, wait, that would mean that this girl is someone who can grant a Geass? Does that mean that Lelouch really is Zero?_

His curiosity got the better of him as he emerged from his hiding place, attempting to hug the wall and slink stealthily down the hallway, hopefully going unnoticed. The girl didn't seem to spot him, or if she did, she didn't care. Slipping through the now ajar door, Richilieu entered Lelouch's personal quarters.

Much like the rest of the building, the room was bulit to the maximum amount of comfort one could reasonably expect. However, it wasn't the decor that Richilieu cared for. The first thing he noticed was Lelouch's computer that, despite being on in the first place, showed several news articles concerning Zero and the Suzaku Kururugi incident, with a few minor ones involving the mystery of the Orange Incident.

_If nothing else,_ he thought, _he's certainly studying up on this phenomonon. _

Stealth be damned, he now began rummaging through anything he could find, starting with the boy's closet. Digging to the best of his ability, he only managed to uncover organized laundry and a system that could only be spawned from a genius with an obsession of cleanliness. While, as a human, Richilieu would have had no trouble sifting through the clothing, he was hard pressed to burn through the material with nothing more than paws and claws. Fifteen minutes passed, and he at last gave up, determining that nothing was present in the closet, at least.

_Relax. If nothing else, I'll find Arthur again and try tomorrow. _

Just as he was about to exit, though, the door shot open, forcing the feline back into his hole. Shrouded in the darkness of the closet, he could observe with ease the entrance of the very same green-haired woman whom he'd observed in the hall, whose thin form was clothed in the same white jacket and pants.

But more importantly was the presence of Lelouch Lamperouge himself, purple eyes shining through a thick black mess, curls giving texture to the mass. He appeared to be sitting on the sofa, though Richilieu's perspective made it difficult to tell much beyond that he was putting something into a case.

"Putting away your helmet, Lelouch?" She asked, genuinely curious. Laying on her stomach, she strained to look over Lelouch's shoulder, the question likely sparked by the object he was himself putting away.

"Indeed. Unlike my Geass, this helmet is a piece of physical evidence." He replied, smirking self-satisfactorly at his precautions.

_... I- Is he really Zero? The way he responded, and what he said... No, it's too farfetched, isn't it? Lelouch can't be Zero... But... But he mentioned Geass! Zero is the only person who would know about that who could even possibly be considered present here! _Panic sounded in his mind as the gravity of the situation hit him. If Lelouch was Zero, that would mean that a terrorist who could perform miracles was just on campus. Truthfully, it wasn't his power that frightened Richilieu, but the lengths to which he was willing to go.

_... But I should make sure, regardless._ Stealthily striding over to the now open and unattended case, (Nunally had entered just prior, bless her crippled timing.) and avoiding contact with C.C. he leaped onto the table to peer in, losing both his balance and his focus as he met the sight.

Feline eyes shot open as, staring him in the face, was the helmet of Zero, the mask of the Black King. The closest thing to a gasp escaped Arthur's lips, thankfully going unnoticed by the green haired girl. His focus gone, Richilieu couldn't help but simply fall into the case, landing with a clatter on the ground as he blacked out, the thud on his head leaving a considerable ringing in the faux feline's ears.

_The Geass is running out, but I've found out what I needed to know. Lelouch Lamperouge is... Zero... Which means Lelouch Lamperouge has christened himself the helm of a war against Britannia._

_Britannia. The most powerful force on the face of the planet._

---

He wished he could say that his assumptions were incorrect and that the physical evidence he'd discovered was false. He wished that Lelouch hadn't obtained this obvious power and that he could simply return to his blissful ignorant bemoaning of life and all of its dull properties. He wished that O.O. had never revealed to him this monstrosity known as Geass and unlocked the depths of the world for his eyes to see.

But most of all, he wished he was wrong.

"He's Zero, O.O.!"

His shock revealed a slight panic as Richilieu shot up off of the couch and rushed into his own room, O.O. casually laying on his bed and reading a novel. Upon his bellowing entrance, however, she averted her gaze, her lips straining to force themselves together.

_She's... Laughing? Why is she...?_

A fully blown chortle was heard, her willpower clearly lacking in the department of humor. A quick trip to his washroom would reveal that she'd seen fit to scribble a quick rendition of cat whiskers on to his face, followed by a solid black nose and a spot over one eye. Richilieu's panic temporarily subsided into a quiet, simmering rage, eyes narrowing into near lines as he contemplated the best way to strangle her.

_Well, at the very least, she can grasp the concept of irony._

Even his inner voice seethed with this mockery, but now was not the place nor time to retaliate. Wetting a wash cloth and wiping at his face, he stepped back into his room, where an incapacitated O.O. was still chuckling.

"Be honest, you expected it, right? You're so brilliant at reading people, you had to have seen it coming."

"I suspected, but hoped I was incorrect. I suppose that makes two counts of hopeful inaccuracy." His voice trailed off, its owner now unwilling to share its information with O.O. out of sheer spite, far more content to plan his next move in contemplative silence. A hand reached out and retrieved a rolling office chair that sat at his desk, pulling it over and casually seating himself as he placed a hand on his chin.

"Two counts? Wait, were you actually right?" Her grin was, much to Richilieu's satisfaction, replaced by a vision of actual curiosity combined, perhaps, with a bit of hope. Rolling off of his bed, O.O. quickly strode over to the boy, crouching down so so she could speak with him at eye level. "Is Lelouch actually Zero? Did you seriously confirm that?"

_Amazing how serious she becomes when something potentially damning pops up._

A roll of the eyes. Rather than actually answer her, directly, at least, Richilieu prompted his own question.

"Who could have given him Geass? I want names." It was more a demand than a question, and one that, despite her pride's protests, O.O. conceded to. Sighing, however, satisfied with his response, despite its indirectness, she responded honestly.

"I'm only aware of a C.C, though, like I said last night, there were at least two others before I got the Code."

"I see..."

A period of silence followed, Richilieu contemplating the impossible and O.O. content to watch, waiting somewhat impatiently for his analysis. At last, his lips parted, and his voice sounded its conclusion.

"Then we'll just have t-"

"_**This is Milly Ashford, your Student Council president! Cat hunt, everybody!**_"

Both quite noticeably cringed as Milly's piercing voice sounded over the already high-pitched speaker, giving each the impression that their ears had just been invaded by a swarm of needles, O.O. herself jumping up from her crouched position out of near shock, narrowly avoiding flipping downward onto the floor.

"What the?! What was that?" She queried, more bewildered than anything, her eyes desperately searching for a source.

"The loud speaker. Evidently Milly's holding another impromptu event." Richilieu, sighing, stood up, sticking a pinky into his left ear in a pitiful effort to stop the ringing.

"_**There's a cat loose on campus that needs to be rounded up! Put everything on hold, people! Participating clubs will get budget priority!**_"

_Invasive as ever, though this does conform to her personality. Controlling ass..._

Richilieu's reaction to the current announcement was, in a word, irritation, ears still ringing from her piercing tone.

"She seems to know how to have fun. Does she always do random events like this? Maybe I should've chosen her..." O.O.'s voice trailed off, putting a finger to her lips as she gazed upward in thought.

_Milly with Geass? She'd be more frightening than Lelouch._ An internal chuckle.

"_**And whoever catches our feline friend will get an extra special prize! A big ol' kiss from one of the members of the Council!**_"

Disbelief covered Richilieu's face. "You... You sadistic bitch..." His eyes twitching, mouth contorted into an ironic gape, he could do nothing but stare as Milly chortled into the microphone, hiding nothing from the students. It was made clear to everybody on campus that she knew _exactly_ who she was betting here.

"_**And, when you do catch that cat, bring what it's carrying to me! To me! To ME!**_"

Yet more sadistic laughter as she finished communicating the rules of this game, the poor boy shaking his head in disgust. Muttered breath scolded her methods and her personality, whereas O.O. very vocally exclaimed her approval.

"Wow, you sure live in an interesting place! She's the student council president here? I'm actually kinda jealous." Her amused form couldn't contain itself from meandering over to Richilieu's window, pulling back the curtains and peering outside. "Well, I don't see anything from here..."

"Focus! The stupid cat isn't important right now." He very nearly barked at her, frustrated at her inability to prioritize. "We've just discovered that Zero, the renowned terrorist, is present at this school and you're concerned with a cat?" Hands involuntarily balled into fists at his side. Christ, why were people so shallow and fickle? At the very least she could stand to not flit from one idea to another in a matter of seconds.

Pouting, she turned away from the pane. "You're a killjoy, y'know that? Maybe I was just interested in the kiss..." A seductive glance.

"Now isn't the time for that, either." A disapproving one.

Suddenly the speakers blared back to life, though, this time, bless her crippled voice, Nunally was the one speaking.

_"I think that its leg must be hurt, because its footsteps sounded off to me."_

_... No way, could it really? Granted, Arthur's leg did feel off when I possessed him, and I wasn't exactly the embodiment of grace, but would they really be searching for __**that**__ particular cat? Not to mention Milly said it was carrying something, so maybe..._

"... Crap, O.O.?"

"Hmm?" Already slipping on socks and looking to retrieve her shoes, O.O. spared a casual glance at her keeper.

"The cat suddenly became very important."

"A change of heart, huh?"

"Of sorts. Hurry, we need to be the ones to find that cat." He quickly started toward the door, refusing to wait on O.O. for more than a few seconds.

"Be honest, you just want to kiss one of the Student Council girls, don't you?" She was quick to follow, not wanting to waste his sudden enthusiasm.

"You'd do best not to accuse me of frivolous pursuits."

"It's Kallen, isn't it?"

"No."

"Are you admitting it's someone else?"

"O.O., shut up."

"Milly?"

"That controlling bitch?"

_**"MEEEOOOW!"**_

The school suddenly erupted in a cacophony of feline mimicry, prompting both Richilieu and O.O. to immediately cringe and cover their ears.

"..."

"..."

"So I'm guessing it's not Nunal-"

"O.O., shut the Hell up. We have a cat to find."


	4. Intermission: The Origin of a God

((A bit of history on Richilieu's last name.))

---

Intermission: The Origin of a God

_Throughout the annals of history, far before the European mainland developed into the E.U., conflict defined all interaction between countries, power being all the motivation that many nobles needed to throw their conscripted soldiers into war, and no war defines this horrible aspect of history as much as the Hundred Years' War, an intense power struggle over the French throne between the Houses of Valois and Plantagenet. The first period of the conflict, the Edwardian War, named for King Edward III of England's astounding victories in the face of severe opposition, carried with it perhaps some of the most quizzically interesting battles. _

_While the period is very obviously known for King Edward III's conquests, there was reportedly another famed commander on the side of the House of Valois, whose charisma was rumored to rouse even the dead from their sleep in order to fight for him. Renowned for his tactics in psychological warfare, he was legendary for his skills in diplomacy, and many battles were likely avoided as a result of his silver tongue. However, truly, the most bizarre story surrounding this man, the late Baron, Clovis de Lyons Le Dieu (Lit. Clovis of Lyons the God), involves his ascension to the noble line and the battle surrounding it._

Blood.

Corpses. Everywhere. One couldn't glance downward for a moment for fear of finding one's entrails cut out, let alone only to find your war buddy decapitated on the ground next to you. What had used to be a luscious green landscape had now been turned into a muddy battlefield, the only foliage now dotting its horizon being the slain corpses of those lost in battle. Even the sky appeared to weep at the loss of so much life, turning a crimson red as the day slowly gave way to the night.

Their commander had recently ordered a retreat, their forces having been both outnumbered and outmatched by their Britannian counterparts, the damned lion seal almost ironically entwined with their precious fleur de lis, insulting their very heritage. This man, this _Britannian_, Edward III; he believed he was rightful heir to the French throne? He believed that the French, a proud people, would merely roll over as he meandered in, seeking their power and their riches?

Although their hearts said no, it appeared that the only sane move their mind would allow them to make was to run. The Britannians were certainly their betters, even if only in number, so how could they hope to defeat them? Even if their pride refused a surrender, the Britannians would refuse a French victory.

They could see the Britannians advancing on them from the horizon. Their commander obviously believed he could dispose of their forces by the end of the night. The French commander having been slain during the initial combat, their forces were left unorganized and inevitably slain, only a small portion of the original platoon remaining in a vaguely fortified line.

It was then that a young conscript, roughly twenty-five years of age, broke formation, walking deliberately in front of the soldiers and spinning around to face them, releasing his head from his helmet to reveal a rather scraggly mess of hair, sticky with sweat and dirt and blood, and fiery brown eyes, burning with passion and pride.

"My friends!" He began, sweeping his right arm in a wide arc in front of him, discarding his helmet to the side as he did. "Fear not death, as death is all that awaits us should we succumb to the rule of a Britannian! We are Frenchmen! We are proud! But most importantly, we are rightful owners of the throne!"

Another sweeping motion, this time with his left. It left him with both arms extended to his sides, hair beginning to billow in a sudden wind. "As soon as we surrender, we are dead! Perhaps not as physical beings, but as men! We will become the whipped dogs of a foreign aristocracy, submitted to nothing but discrimination and agony. The natural order is not to have a Britannian presiding over the French, but to have a Frenchman! The natural order is not to merely accept this fate, but to combat it! The natural order is not to lose, but to win! Not for ourselves, but for all that is right in this world!"

"So fear not, my friends." Yet more wind came, blowing the youth's hair and causing it to whip across his face. Lightening struck on the horizon, green-tinted storm clouds taking form over the opposing forces.

"For God is on our side."

"Attack!"

At that moment, a funnel cloud began forming, spiraling down as dust and debris colored it a sickly black. Britannian soldiers panicked. Some of them even dropped to their knees and prayed to the same God Clovis had deemed against them. A grisly, if not satisfying, sight met the French as their charge began, Britannian soldiers being picked up into the storm and disappearing into the murky depths of its wind, several becoming cut in twain by the very fleur de lis bearing shields that so ironically mocked their opponents' French culture.

The very shields that were now protecting France.

Disturbed by this supernatural change of events, the Britannian commander ordered a mass retreat, not from the French that were now slaughtering the distracted and distressed English, but from the tornado that had so timefully assaulted their forces. Cavalry fled and trampled over friendly units in their frantic vie for escape, the twister's tale erratically decimating random Britannian forces.

_It was for this that Clovis de Lyons was knighted and made nobility, for calling down the wrath of God himself. Truly, what a spectacle it must have been, his speech of God's justice being nothing but augmented by the timely appearance of nature's most destructive force. French forces easily dispatched of the remaining units with no further casualties, and it was reported that a feast was held in Clovis' honor, supplied despite their meager reserves. He was immediately elected leader of that platoon, and later dubbed a knight of honor, eventually becoming true nobility as he ascended to the title of Baron. _

_Truly an interesting tale and one I'm very fond of reiterating to a fellow intellectual. I hope that this recount has assissted you in your research, Mr. Richilieiu LeDieu._

_From the desk of,__  
Professor Marquis LeNoir  
Department of European History_


	5. Chapter Three

((Oh, O.O., you so crazy, but you certainly get the job done.))

Chapter 3: The Shifty Eyed Ladle, Lelouch Vi Britannia

OR

The One Where I Break Canon

_Dammit! Nowhere!_

Exasperated, a sweaty and fatigued Richilieu leaned against the brick exterior of one of Ashford's numerous buildings, right hand on knee and left hand placed none too firmly against the wall as a brace. A quick glance around also revealed that, much to his vexation, O.O. seemed to have wandered off on her own. Fantastic. Now, in addition to the Zero Cat, he had a power-granting, insanely childish woman to find.

"Bloody perfect. Knowing her, she'll just as likely hand the helmet or the cape or whatever the Hell made Lelouch so panicky straight over to the press just to watch the 'fun'."

A sneaker clad foot struck the ground in an fit of frustration.

_And if that happens, who knows what the Hell he'll do. Order an assassination on the finder? Geass the press into brainwashing the public? O.O., we're dealing with forces above us, here! Do you know what kind of balls a guy willing to fight a damned empire must have?_

Sighing, he turned around, leaning his back into the wall and sliding down, only stopping as he began to sit on the ground.

_I have limited options, here. I could possess Lelouch, perhaps, before the cat's caught, and keep him unaware of anything when it is. Then, when we have it, we can put it back in his room, leaving Milly and the press none the wiser. I just need to-_

**"Attention Ashford Academy!"**

_... No..._

**"This is Ophelie Odette, your **_**counter**_** Student Council President!"**

_How did she...?_

**"And, as such, I have a **_**counter**_** proposal!"**A constrained giggle might have been heard, but no one listening was really certain. **"Bring the cat to Richilieu Marquis LeDieu, along with what it's carrying, and he'll give you a **_**very**_** special prize! You even get to choose if he's wearing pants or not!"**

"What the fuck?!" He cried, standing up with a vigor and life unbecoming of his earlier fatigue. "Where the fuck does she get off offering me up as some kind of sexual reward?!"

**"And if you're one of the unlucky saps with a Y chromosone, no worries! He's got a wide array of talents; pick any girl from the lot, not just the student council, and she's yours for the evening! No sir, you're not limited to some silly kiss here! So make sure to bring your prize to Richilieu!"**

After that, what sounded to be a staff member began screaming from the background, followed by more giggling on O.O.'s part. A clatter, confusing the school's PA system into giving off a cacophony of sound, pierced the ears of all listening. Nonetheless, her announcement had been given, and the message was made very clear.

"Fuck you, O.O.!" A skillfully constrained curse, as it wasn't screamed to the world at large, prodded Richilieu into an additional search, the boy dashing off in a randomly, unexplored direction. "How did she even get a hold or that PA thing? Did she sneak into the front office or something? Dammit, and then offering me up, insisting that I'd possess a girl just to take away some asshole's virginity? How dare she even think I'd consider that!"

Students were out in a surprising force, each and every one of them searching for this suddenly golden feline, only a few sparing glances away from their searches to give Richilieu a perplexing and judgmental gape. Naturally, a few were confused as to his sudden insinuation that he could possess the bodies of others, but it was more than likely locked away into a corner of their mind, only piling on to the reasons why they didn't speak with him daily.

It was perhaps from among these amorphous groups that O.O. stealthily emerged, shocking the living sex toy into a sudden stop, and dooming him to an awkward crash to the ground.

"Like the announcement?" It was asked innocuously enough, though Richilieu could tell from her body language that she'd intentionally done this to both vex him and assist her goals, her motives far from purity or ignorance.

"And what makes you think I'll have sex with anyone?" He barked back at her, quick to rise to his feet and brush imprinted pebbles from his palms. People had temporarily halted their search in order to watch the conflict, a slight murmur now traveling throughout the group as the supposed couple quarreled. Generally, the consensus was one of, "He managed a girlfriend?", "She's willing to offer him up as a prize?", "That lucky, horny dog.", or, "What a man whore." Of course, what this consensus was depended largely on whom you asked.

"I never said sex. Looks like _someone_ has a dirty miiind~ I thought you weren't _interested_ in kissing?" The wagging finger, the condescending shrug as she insinuated he was dirty sex hound... Strangely, these weren't the issues he was concerned with.

"O.O., _do not_ play word games with me! Do you know what the Hell you just did?"

The murmur grew louder, and Richilieu spared a scathing glare at the steadily approaching crowd. Naturally, this halted the shier ones, but left those more bold only more determined to listen. A scowl.

"We're leaving. And **not**," He screamed this last word, so that all of the peanut gallery could hear. "Being followed! Am I right?"

A silence.

"You suck!"

"Right. Let's go." The lone voice did little to convince the crowd to ignore Richilieu's pleas, the lot of them instead returning to their search, some no doubt working even harder after the promise of a new, less restricted reward. O.O. laughed the entireity of the time throughout the conversation, doubling over as she revelled in the bit of chaos she'd caused. "Oh, what fun!"

---

"Here. The top of the bell tower." With a huff, LeDieu leaned his head out of one of the four windows, the rough concrete abrasive against the sleeves of his black school jacket, the entire area dim due to the somewhat blocked sunlight. O.O., smirking, followed behind him, arms folded across chest in what appeared the be a pose of smug victory, leaning against a red brick wall as soon as she had a solid footing on the top floor.

"Hanging your head in defeat? You're not as clever as I thought you were. Now people are going to want to bring the cat to us. We don't even have to work for it."

"No, no, that's not the point! Do you realize what Lelouch is capable of?" He turned around, genuinely afraid. This situation was far too serious and, indeed, far too real for him to take as a game. They were dealing with a man who had the means to fight an empire, and she wanted to poke the bear with a stick by stealing its helmet?

"We look for the helmet to discreetly return to Lelouch's room. If we're lucky, he won't feel the need to act drastically. We can approach him, if you really, really want to, but I need an actual plan and not a convoluted, spontaneous one!" He spun around to face her, eyes denying the fear he felt, but instead projecting a visage of pragmatism. O.O., however, wasn't convinced.

"And what of what you said earlier about plans being too rigid?"

"I... I, well... There's a time for that, you know. I need to study him more, so that I can gain a good grasp of what he'll act on-"

"Quit lying. You're afraid, aren't you?"

He blinked at her, merely turning back around and hanging his head over the edge of the window hair covering glasses rimmed eyes. The girl sighed. Clearly she'd have to be slightly maternal here in order to convince this boy to act.

"It's alright, you're new at this game called politics. I've had centuries of experience, and you've had what? An entire life of sixteen years, half of which was spent being toilet trained? You have potential to play at this level, but-"

"O.O., don't feed me this crap. Lelouch is dangerous. He attacked a military convoy, which proves that, not only is he brilliant enough to get away with it, but secured enough in order to feel comfortable doing so. His assets far exceed mine, and his intelligence in matters such as this exceeds mine as well, despite my desperate wish that it weren't so."

Another sigh and she stepped off the wall, walking up to the sill and taking a place next to him.

"OK, fine, I tried to be nice. Remember our contract. If you don't go through with this, I won't be entertained, thus voiding it and killing you for defying an immortal."

There. He hadn't been looking at her, so his masterful observation skills would be moot. Her inflection and tone were both perfect. Richilieu would absolutely have to believe this.

"Threats? You're hardly tact, are you?" He looked up at her with a half glare, smirking.

A smirk back. "More than you know."

An exasperated sigh as he stood. "Fine. I'll approach him. But we absolutely will not follow your plan. We will-"

"Mreow."

Both parties blinked in confusion as a helmeted feline jumped between them, bouncing off the sill and onto the roof below.

"... Arthur?"

"Out of the way, please!"

"... An Eleven?"

One Suzaku Kururugi burst forth, forcefully separating the two and causing both to tumble downward as he leapt out the window, intending to follow the cat. Brown hair covering eyes and ears was now blown back as wind slid past it, eyes forward and focused on his goal.

"Wait, Suzaku!"

"Lelouch?"

A winded Britannian shortly followed, moving forward with what could only be sheer will power and climbing out of the window, paying little notice to either Richilieu or O.O.

"... Change of plans, O.O. Go downstairs and wait for a falling mask..." He whispered, ensuring that Lelouch, having only just made his way outside, didn't hear. She chuckled, but otherwise made no comment, simply leaping over the banister meant to protect climbers from falling in a feat of ironic audacity, Richilieu himself peering out the window and calling the hidden Britannian noble's name.

"Hey Lelouch, or should I say Zero?"

He froze. Lelouch made no movements, save for slowly turning his head around after a few moments, a hand dramatically covering his eye.

"Shoulda covered both."

And with that, LeDieu slumped to the ground, robbing Lelouch of his free will if even for a moment, instead intentionally letting go of his footing and peering up at Arthur, cathing but a glimpse of the feline's eyes and jumping to him. Suzaku did as predicted, sliding down to prevent a yelling Lelouch, and the 'cat' gently nudged his head adornment off on the bell, the much sought after item bounce, bounce, bouncing to the ground. A canceled geass and a few minutes of climbing down stairs had the boy meeting up with a refreshingly compliant O.O., who presented the youth with Zero's trademark.

"O.O., we've won."

"I'm glad to hear it."

A triumphant and, perhaps, cocky smirk spread across Richilieu's face. He could do this. He could challenge Lelouch at his own game, and win! He could play against the dealer with a stacked deck and still come out on top. Yes, this was all possible now.

"O.O., this Geass... This is truly what it must feel to be a God, to be omnipotent among your former peers! With this, I can do it. I can accomplish it, my goal. I'd long been apathetic merely to cover my helplessness, but now? ... I can attain so much more..."

It began as a short chuckle, then a quiet chortle, but, inevitably, it evolved into a full blown cackle, resonating throughout buildings. A deep breath as he finally halted his disturbing celebration, the laugh quieting down in quite an intimidating manner.

"Truly... I am a God..."


	6. Chapter Four

((And college eats your time. Sorry for the wait.))

---

Eleven Times Faster Than a Normal Zaku, Suzaku Kururugi

Throughout Richilieu's entire 'divine' monologue, O.O. had been politely clamping her own mouth shut, trying painfully to restrain a rich laughter. She allowed him to finish, however, only did so by pure luck, losing her restraint the moment he completed the word "God". Doubled over, holding clutched hands at her side, her far more innocuous laughter filled the empty air where LeDieu's egotistical claims had been only moments beforehand.

"A… A God! Oh, wow, that's funny!" Tears formed at her eyes, such was the intensity of this chortle.

Richilieu, of course, was less than amused. Eyes narrowed, a near scowl painted on his lips, and he addressed the involuntarily demeaning woman.

"Dare I ask why you're laughing so hard?"

Her vehement laughing had died down into a giggle, O.O. straightening up, taking in air, and brushing white hair from her face. A last snicker and she began to speak normally, though not without an amused grin silently mocking the signer of her contract.

"Quite honestly, you've gone through the transition way faster than any of my former users. How does it feel, the unearned megalomania?" She openly mocked him with her tone, a condescending stride carrying her over to the understandably annoyed Richilieu, her slender hands subtly dragging his head downward to face her, the youth noticing that her well structured hands were yet another indicator of the aristocracy.

"Unearned? I just outmaneuvered Zero, O.O., or didn't you notice?" His hands awkwardly twitched in his pockets, eager to act on his slighted pride despite his face's stoic appearance. Still, though, he held firm, merely gazing down at O.O. as per her wishes and detecting from her facial features nothing he hadn't expected.

_Amusement, condescension, arrogance…_

However, Richilieu also observed several seemingly inappropriate expressions.

_Anxiousness, worry, hope…? Is she concerned about my outburst?_

"O.O…." A sigh, and his eyes softened. He realized that she was jest as likely attempting to preserve her new toy for as long as she could as she was actually attempting to protect him out of some sense of comradery, however, he still found himself somewhat touched by the emotions played out in her eyes.

A sole finer shoved itself directly into LeDieu's face, the uncalloused skin shining in the foreground of the boy's vision.

"When you are able to kill one, you are an assassin."

Another finger shot up, indicating the second item on her list.

"When you are able to kill millions, you are a king."

A third, forming an awkward W, now appeared.

"But only when you are able to kill all, to hold the fate of everybody the world over in your hands, are you a god."

She turned back now, solemn.

"Richilieu, you've barely passed the first threshold. You're no more powerful than your every day murderer, and yet you claim divinity for blind siding a classmate?"

Her stride took her a few feet away from the boy, forcing him to turn his head to the right in order to keep her in sight. He appeared, outwardly, anyway, to contemplate her words, however, was fairly quick to retort.

"Not a classmate. Zero. That's the identity that he's chosen for himself." A defense of his claim, though he in no way addressed O.O.'s attack. Stepping so that his entire body was now facing this girl, the gravel underneath the soles of his sneakers crunching, he sighed with exasperation. "And you know, as well as I, that Zero is a very formidable foe."

"Formidable enough that you become a god upon getting in a sucker punch? Stop flattering yourself, and Lelouch too, for that matter." She stared disapprovingly. Was she disappointed with him? "Regardless," She began again, blue eyes focusing in the distance as her head tilted to the side in wonder. "Your 'foe' is here."

Richilieu's own eyes, another shade of blue that defied and mismatched his hair, darted to the side, a slight rotation of the head revealing a noticeably upset Lelouch walking determinedly toward the thief of his helmet.

"So what now, Mr. God? Gonna summon a tornado on him?" She spoke mockingly, but her tone only confirmed in LeDieu's eyes her disappointment, her discontent with his reaction and proclamations.

_Well, big deal. I disappoint a lot of people._ Though the words were somewhat false. He was, if only unconsciously, mildly upset that she so disapproved of his actions.

At last, the hidden prince came within speaking distance, knees only just discernable as shaking from the long chase he had been forced to run. His eyes, a supernatural shade of violet, and his hair, curly brown mess that it was, sat atop a profile that made obvious its determination in its goals, jaw firmly set and teeth clenced. Those same supernatural eyes were set in a fierce death gaze on LeDieu, and his straw thin body, clad loosely in the black and gold laced uniform students were required to wear, stood perfectly straight, leaving no doubt that Lelouch had every intention to weather whatever LeDieu could throw at him.

For a while, they stood in silence, somewhere along the line Richilieu rotating to face him and O.O. slipping behind him. Truthfully, the thin corridor was rather appropriate for their showdown, their position between two buildings casting a shadowy atmosphere on the opponents' dark hearts.

"How?" The Britannian royal spoke first, voice teeming with malice, but also, perhaps, with a tint of surprise.

"How…?" LeDieu unintentionally seemed to mock his counterpart's query, rotating his hand forward in an indication to elaborate.

"You have Geass, I'm certain of it. Possession, most likely. I spied your body collapsing roughly a sixteen of a second before I blacked out, so you're transmitting more than just light." He sensed an internal revelry by Lelouch, perhaps a small celebration to acknowledge that he'd guessed the most likely ability of LeDieu based solely on such a minute observation. "I want to know how. Did you get it from C.C.?" He sounded betrayed. Clearly his relationship with the immortal granting his Geass was a tad more intimate.

O.O. nodded at his question, but not in affirmation. Instead, it seemed to be more for herself, as if confirming a silent query. Richilieu, shutting his eyes and procuring the dropped helmet from the ground behind him, deemed it appropriate to smirk.

"And what would you do if I had?" Confident, brazen… Was this an act or did Richilieu's ambitions from earlier override the disappointment laced in O.O.'s voice?

"That wasn't what I asked. No matter; how did you find out I'm Zero?"

"You turned around." LeDieu was certain to keep his eyes closed as Lelouch blinked, processing what this youth had to say, his expression gradually darkening into a ghastly scowl, lips and nostrils flared with teeth visibly gritting. The realization, by Richilieu's account, that he himself had revealed his identity shattering any internal calm he may have had.

"It… it was a guess?" He hissed this, much to the entertainment of O.O., who appeared to be snickering silently at Lelouch's rage.

"Does it alter your situation if it was? Either way, I know now." A condescending smirk shot at Lelouch's pride, the youth unable to do much to the discoverer of his helmet discreetly. Cornered and fatigued, Lelouch conceded a tactical retreat. He hung his head with his concession.

"What do you want?"

While Richilieuy silently reveled in this open admittance of defeat, O.O. only stared at the son of a Britannian king, dumbfounded and more than a little disappointed at such an anti-climactic conclusion. Just as Richilieu was about to state his demands, O.O. shot her hand up from her side to cuff him on the ear, causing the boy to stop in the middle of his though and turn, perplexed and slowly with an eyebrow raised confusedly, toward this offender of his sanity. She refused to await his beratement, instead stepping out from behind him and marching toward the defeated Britannian.

"Oh, come on!" Her forceful gait crushed gravel as Lelouch slowly peered upward, perplexed. "You're going to surrender so easily to him? Where's the action? Where's the drama? No, you'll have to try again. I won't let Richilieu win after that little speech without him at least earning it." Hands were placed on hips as this snowy haired girl gazed defiantly at a rather befuddled Britannian and his French counterpart.

"But… Aren't you with him?"

Richilieu's face met his palm as he too strode forward, intent on physically repressing her verbal assault on his victory.

"With him? He wouldn't know if a girl were coming on to him if she-"

"O.O., shut up!"

"O.O.?" Lelouch's eyes shot forward to this girl with such a strange name.

… _Dammit! I slipped._

O.O. herself now actually appeared rather amused at the conflict, slinking again to a more inconspicuous location, not at all unaware that Lelouch, Zero, was watching her movements.

"So she's-"

"A cosplayer. She's a character from one of those Eleven animations. She likes to remain in character, so I indulge her by speaking the character's name." Richilieu stepped further forward in order to capture his attention away from the complicating girl, the Frenchman's eyes tightly squinted so as to avoid a collision. His prey refused to be fooled, however. Rising from his slump, a hand placed dramatically over his eye in order to keep the gradually developed, unspoken agreement of no Geass intact, Lelouch spoke.

"Odette Ophelie, am I right? If that was you on the PA system, O.O., then I can only assume Richilieu here is the contractor to your Code."

"Oh, you know about that? Don't say anything else, please, I haven't told him about the Code yet."

Richilieu plastered a scowl on his lips, swinging his right arm, helmet and all, around in front of him in order to garner attention.

"Enough! Don't forget, _Zero_, I have your helmet still!"

The Britannian turned his casual glance from O.O. to Richilieu for a moment, grimacing in contemplation. The trembling LeDieu, upset that he'd been revealed so easily spoke again after a few moments.

"A vow of secrecy. I know that you're both Zero and a Geass wielder. You know of my Geass and O.O. We speak of these things to no one but each other. Agreed?"

"So we'll be blackmailing each other, is that it?" His eyes narrowed at LeDieu, obviously not pleased with having anything held over his head.

"Unfortunately."

Both parties sat momentarily in a contemplative silence, the third party, O.O., rapidly losing interest and inspecting the back of her hand quite studiously in her wait.

"Very well." Lelouch eventually spoke, dropping his hand but keeping his left eye shut regardless. "It's a deal." His opponent simply nodded, sighing and leaning against one of the two brick walls. Zero's helmet eventually found its way again to the feet of Lelouch, clattering along abrasive gravel to the silent chagrin of its owner. Unwilling to spoil their tenuous agreement, however, he remarked nothing on the matter, contenting himself to casually retrieving it from the ground. Lelouch continued.

"Then I must go. My helmet can be seen by no one else." Though a hand covered his face in an international sign of failure, LeDieu still nodded in approval, observing with ears alone Lelouch's departure, the crunch of gravel on sole obscuring the mumbled musings of O.O.

"Not quite the negotiator Clovis de Lyons was, is he…?"

---

While some might legitimately argue that failure is a necessity to success, it could not ever appear so in the eyes of the thwarted Frenchman. To him, this defeat was a shame, a dishonor made worse by the fact that it could have easily been prevented. In his anger at her indulgence, he'd accidentally called O.O.'s name, revealing to Lelouch her identity and their acquaintanceship. A blunder, truly and fully.

"Oh, get over it." O.O. irritably called from the bland couch of Richilieu's dormitory, eyes and hands focused on the mastery of a hijacked portable game found in the office's "Lost and Found". "So you screwed up; that's part of being human." The subject of her message was, himself, lying on his back in his own bed, arms folded over his eyes as he thought over his current situation. Things were advancing too quickly; how long ago had it been, the day O.O. granted him Geass? Three days, maybe four, and already he was engaged in a duel with Zero, the masked terrorist who threatened to one day overthrow the government and its injustices. It just seemed so rapid, and the damage he'd received falling from his power high certainly didn't do much to assist his struggling thoughts.

"O.O.," He called to his more experienced roommate, typically ignoring her statement with the utmost nonchalance. "He mentioned a Code. What is that?"

"Ah, but that would be helping, wouldn't it?" She giggled and said nothing more, playfully waving socked feet in the air. A scowl met her in response, but Richilieu did not pursue the matter further, most likely due to fatigue, and simply lay, letting his thoughts go unreined and watching as an observer as they flitted in and out of his psyche. Grand and miniscule, philosophical and material, altruistic and selfish; all were present. LeDieu had no influence over what he considered in those moments.

In what seemed an instant, a revelation hit, and he suddenly stood hunched over O.O., arms on either side over her shoulders so as to prevent her escape.

"The Code. It's the code to the mind, isn't it?"

The thought had spurned from his unorganized psyche. Whereas, when put under this stress, his mind had simply caved and given in to a fatigue, O.O.'s always appeared reined in, under her own control and her own volition. In his desperate search for knowledge of this word that eluded his texts and danced so mockingly in the minds of both O.O. and Lelouch, this conclusion seemed justified.

O.O. barely put her game down, just enough so that her eyes could meet his as he made his query. A smile, revealing her teeth, was given, conveying more amusement than happiness.

"Not quite." She shuffled into a more comfortable position that involved letting the portable device drop to the ground as she squirmed into a more upright position. "But if you absolutely need a hint."

She leaned forward, and her lips met his. Richilieu stood still more from surprise than shock as she pulled away, his eyebrows raised and eyes nonverbally asking her the reason for that action.

"It's the Code to _that._ Interpret that however you like." She smirked again and squirmed out from under his grasp, leaping from the arm of the couch into the doorway of his bedroom in order to slip under the sheets before he could have a chance to claim them, leaving her target to merely stoop on his legs and contemplate her actions.

"Lust, love… Life?"

"Y'know, for someone who studies people," She shouted from the next room, having heard his guesses, "You sure don't understand them very well."


	7. Chapter Five

Chapter 5: To See More Violence, To See More Failure, To See More Vengeance, Semore Wellesley

Time had passed since the confrontation, that much, at least, Richilieu knew. Exactly how much was vague, but a safe wager, made with the guidance of his calendar, pinned it at one week. Certainly things had calmed down since then, comparatively with what had been happening, at least, allowing the startled youth to collect himself and to think about events passed. Of course the obvious occurred to him: how megalomaniacal it had been of him to declare divinity, exaggerated as it had been intended, how, as a result, infeasible his goal truly was, and of course how his new relationship with Lelouch Lamperouge, with Zero, was to unfold.

To put it bluntly, it wasn't.

_We'll be at odds, I'm certain. His approach is far more confrontational than I'd have it be. He's a military strategist at heart, whereas I'm a negotiator. We're polar opposites even working toward the same objective._

They, of course, weren't working toward the same objective at all. Not exactly, anyway. Regardless, menial affairs were taken care of during this period of duress. Milly's "generous" offer to join the student council was politely refused, the post of mandatory organization being kept by Richilieu's tentative membership in Ashford Academy's psychology club. Though distracted, he kept his studies up, pushing the lower-than-expected C on his oral report in history to a far more respectable A minus via extracurricular written reports and maintaining above average scores in the rest of his courses. The setting would have appeared to have returned to normal had it not been for the increasing oddities in the people around him. Of course the snowy haired woman occupying the couch in his dorm, offering nothing useful and certainly doing nothing to attempt it, was a given indicator of the absurdity of his situation, but others, as well, seemed to be behaving strangely.

Lelouch, despite the masked nervousness of his actions, appeared relatively unchanged due to their encounter, though an occasional glance, or, perhaps a glare, was made in Richilieu's direction, certainly at a higher frequency than prior to their meeting. It was to be expected, however unnerving it unconsciously made the Frenchman feel.

Charles began expressing more and more discontent, both in his verbiage and in his actions. The cause was hardly difficult to pinpoint, however, due to the candid nature of the boy, the fiercely crown-loyal youth expressing discontent with the new Viceroy and the newly appointed Sub Viceroy, Princesses Cornelia and Euphemia respectively. Richilieu paid his political concerns little mind, though was silently thankful for the tether of such normal concerns that kept him tied to reality.

Semore, however, was of slightly more concern. The boy had obviously never liked him, but it appeared that, recently, he was paying more and more attention to Richilieu, an odd if not unremarkable development that LeDieu had hardly given the effort to notice. The Britannian boy, with ironically sunny hair haphazardly strewn across his scalp, had begun stalking him after classes, following behind Richilieu and observing with black eyes every necessary detail of his daily routines. Having only caught him in this act once or twice, Richilieu thought little of it, and provided no guards to the boy's endeavors.

… _Well, damn, maybe I should have._

These words were thought with the point of a blade jabbing Richilieu in the back, the weapon artfully pointed at precisely the location of one of his kidneys; an instantly killing blow if it were to pierce the organ, as the pain would seize his throat and force a silent suffocation on him. A black jacket would offer little protection to such a weapon.

He'd been caught flat-footed. A mere trip to a grocer had become a near-death experience, the perpetrator of the incident having snuck behind him and directing the duo into a dark alley in the ghetto, one a passing witness would have trouble thinking of a reason to look into, much less enter.

"… So might I have the honor of knowing who's threatening my life?"

"Shut the fuck up you frog."

The fact that he'd responded at all, let alone so quickly, was enough. Though his voice was forcibly made raspy and deep, his inflection, enunciation, _pro_nunciation were all enough to narrow down the options in his mind to a mere four options, and only one, in his mind, had the observed motivation to use such a racial slur against him.

"Nice of you to visit, Semore."

The assailant paused, the tensing of muscles pushing the very tip of the blade just past the skin of Richilieu's back. His identity had been confirmed. As to _why_ he was currently threatening his life, though… Richilieu still didn't know.

"Frog, huh? You should know my family's been in Britannia for over ten generations."

The nonchalance with which he spoke skillfully masked the genuine fear he felt at this moment, the reality of a blade pushing into his back initiating a struggle against his rationale and his instinct for survival. It was all he could do to talk to his captor.

"I don't give a damn how long you've been in Britannia. You're descended from Clovis of Lyons, right? The God?"

This time Richilieu paused. How had Semore come across that knowledge? While it was true that his most celebrated ancestor had been a national hero in France due to his stunning victory over Britannian forces in the Hundred Years' War, his line, Richilieu's line, had been cast out of France by the time of the French Revolution, and had been refugees in both Britannian homelands, first the Isles, then the Americas, since the time of the Napoleonic Wars. Certainly Richilieu had the right to refer to himself as a Britannian after that much time.

"… Yes…" He answered tentatively, uncertain if lying would help him in this situation.

"Then you're a frog. There's no repent; you've sullied the blood of Britannia."

Jesus, was Semore really _this_ blatantly racist? It was one thing to be a Britannian elitist, nearly everyone was, in fact, but to go to the point of threatening one's life due to his heritage… It seemed too much.

"… What's your angle?"

"Learn to listen, Frenchie; you're not Brit-"

"Yeah, yeah, I got that. Why threaten my life, though?

Yet more silence. The sound of Knightmares sounded in the distance, likely one of the many patrols Viceroy Cornelia had ordered in order to capture Zero. After a good many seconds, Semore again spoke, the façade of raspiness gone and replaced with a far less angry voice, one merely filled with a deep hatred.

"You will be my resolve. You, Richilieu LeDieu, will serve as my symbol. You will be my catalyst, the ignition that begins my quest and the fuel that continues to run it."

The knife jabbed further into his back, blood beginning to trickle down Richilieu's back and staining his shirt. He winced, slightly, but not noticeably, as both this and the trickle went unnoticed in the concealing night. His response had simply been insult to injury, as Semore's verbiage, though prosaic, answered little his question. The very least Richilieu could infer was that he wasn't nearly as steadfast in his beliefs as he'd have him believe. The knife in his back, though certainly threatening and capable of killing him in an instant, was shaky and uncertain, and his speech was far too confident, as if he was attempting to convince himself as much as Richilieu himself.

_He thinks he needs me dead, as if killing me forces him into some kind of commitment to whatever fucked up cause he has going. _

"You can't be thinking of going to war with France. They're part of the Euro Universe now, a member of one of the most powerful alliances in the world."

"Thank you, I'm aware of what faction your backwards people are members of."

Well. Touchy. He was making little headway by defying him and questioning his actions; perhaps a different approach was necessary. At the least, Richilieu had to continue speaking with him, lest the boy collect his nerves for a long enough period to go through with the deed.

"Then what? What could possibly be driving you to take my life?"

"I don't have to answer to you, frog."

He felt Semore's hand tighten on the handle. Was this the final moment? Was he just reaffirming his grip? Richilieu couldn't say, though the suspense involuntarily brought a bead of sweat to his brow. He would have to act quickly if he were to survive this encounter.

"You're certainly not as committed as you'd like me to believe. You've had this bit of metal to my back for quite a few minutes now."

No reply. Richilieu took that as a cue to continue.

"You're attempting to force yourself into a certain cause, aren't you? Some crusade against the French for denying Britannia the throne during the Hundred Years' War, or maybe for the Napoleonic Wars. Stop me if I'm wrong."

More silence, though the blade shuddered ever more violently, a minor tremor now, though visible to the eye, should one have been watching.

"I have no doubt you have a strong sense of morality. You wouldn't be hesitating on something of such importance to you otherwise. You're conflicted between the socially ingrained taboo against murder and your own firm convictions on what should be right or wrong. You believe that I deserve death, being the descendent of Clovis de Lyons le Dieu, a central figure in French history and one pivotal to its success, therefore indirectly responsible for Britannia's eventual fall from power in Europe. You truly believe I deserve this, but you can't. You lack the necessary conviction that I'd expect from one who likely follows the philosophy of the _übermensch_."

He was forcefully spun around by suddenly steadfast palms, only momentarily meeting his captor with a gaze before being slugged in the face by Semore's free hand, the French boy tumbling back and just barely bracing himself against a wall. Semore followed up by dashing forward and placing the knife at his throat, a look of tearful mania in his eyes. "You're fucking right. You know that, you fucking frog? You're right." Hatred sounded in his voice, filling Richilieu with a genuine fear that he might have overestimated the stability of this enemy. "I hate you. I hate you with every fiber of my being for taking what was mine away from me, for taking away what was Britannia's away from it. Your death would've sparked a controversy, the first of the ethnic cleansing of so many of your brothers. Eventually Britannia and the Euro Universe would pick up on it. Others would follow my cause as I left notes at the crimes explaining my motivations, and we would become a global force. France would be forced to enter negotiations with Britannia and provide them with the British Isles again. I would secretly reveal myself as the killer to Britannian officials, and my family would return to nobility after my line's terrible disgrace at Waterloo."

_Not the brightest of plans. Megalomaniacal, at best. _Richilieu thought, the analytical aspect of his psyche unable to refuse looking at the boy's goal objectively. _Far too vague. Though I guess it __**was**__ me that said well organized plans tended to fail. He's very clearly psychologically ill, and I don't really care to compete with that right now, especially considering the pointy bit of steel at my neck. More interestingly, however, he mentioned Waterloo. What was his last name? William? Wesley?_

"Waterloo? That happened well over a hundred years ago. How the fuck could I have affected something that far back?"

"You're not listening! Your ancestor allowed for that to happen, whether he meant to or not, and you're the closest way I'm getting back at him, to give him the proper punishment for what he did!"

_So it's projection. Would've guessed from the start, but confirmation is always nice._ He couldn't help but chuckle at his own thoughts, the irony of his nonchalant musings coupled with his genuine terror not lost on him.

_Regardless, this has gone on long enough. He's face to face with me now, which'll let me use my Geass. I can buy myself half an hour with that, at least; that's more than enough time to think of an effective strategy. _

And so he did. His eye turned to Semore's and captured his body with the power of kings, giving the youth full control while leaving his own vessel empty and slumped. He stood, making certain to quickly flip the knife closed and place it within a pocket on his own body. A sigh, and he slumped against the wall, forcing his new corpse to relax, Semore's limbs tense to the point of snapping from the boy's nervousness.

_I was correct in assuming he couldn't separate himself from his ingrained morality. He's a failed Raskolnikov. _His eyes wandered to the flexing fingers of Semore's hand, philosophically musing about the power held behind such a thing.

_For instance, how they're so integral to the process of one's identity._

An idle hand reached into a coat pocket, feeling around for a wallet before eventually finding its target, an Ashford Academy identity card sliding out as soon as encouraged.

_Semore Wellesley. Age Seventeen. Year Junior. Sex Male. Hair Blonde. Eyes Black._

And a mug shot. It had to have been a Britannian behind the camera; the boy was actually smiling in the image.

_Wellesley… Waterloo… He couldn't be referring to the 1__st__ Duke of Wellington, could he? His line was discarded and forgotten after his loss to Napoleon, dooming the British Isles to French control. Who'd have thought that his descendent would have come to Area Eleven, let alone seek me out. Figured his beef would be with Napoleon I…_

He replaced the bit of plastic and leather and returned to his pondering, keeping a mental count of the minutes passed after his possession. A sigh, and an observation that a metal staircase lead up the side of the building he was currently leaned against.

_I could easily kill him with no repercussions._

The revelation was liberating, though it left an awful taste in his mouth about the whole affair.

_Just a jump off a building. An easy suicide, a method I wouldn't be held accountable for in the slightest._

_But that would be cheap, wouldn't it… I do like a good opponent, though chess is more my game._

He gazed longingly at the staircase. It would be such an easy way out of this dilemma; his potential murderer would be out of the picture permanently and he would pay virtually no price. Truly an enviable position.

… _But how long had he held my life in his hands tonight?_

A final glance at the stair case. He rose, hands in pockets, resolute.

---

Semore awoke roughly twenty minutes later. His prey had suddenly vanished and his knife was suddenly gone, he himself somehow teleported twenty feet down the alley on a completely different wall from where LeDieu had been pinned. The skin across his neck had been sliced, though just at the skin, and a piece of paper was pinned to his coat, blood, his blood, he presumed, spread across the edges.

"_We're even."_


	8. Chapter Six

Chapter 6: The Tip of the Spear, the Horn of Victory, Cornelia Li Britannia

A hasty retreat had been made the moment Richilieu was able to move his own limbs again, his footfall silent enough to remain inaudible to the understandably bewildered Semore, who was just waking up from his possession. Hopefully the intimidation tactic he'd used would be enough to stave off a potential pursuit by the racially charged boy, though he highly suspected his curiosity and still radiant racial prejudice would continue to drive him in Richilieu's direction. It would have been far more strategically sound to have simply murdered him, and Richilieu was indeed having second thoughts about his merciful decision.

Regardless, it seemed he had thrown the boy off for now, his random weaving throughout corridors and streets likely allowing him some freedom from his pursuer for tonight. The remaining issue was with the inhabitants of the Eleven ghetto, the least of which would more than happily take advantage of a lone Britannian, lost and wandering the streets, that is, if the strangely copious amounts of Sutherlands didn't concern them. Gunfire filled the air as dusk began to fall, darkness applying both a veil and an amplifier to the effects given by the frightful screams heard by the Elevens being massacred.

_Cornelia must be continuing Clovis' work. It's probably in open defiance of Zero, but still, you can't beat us Britannians for racism…_ _Heh, or should I still be considered French? Who knows? Nationality's such a petty issue, decided by artificial borders that are in turn determined by warring men, who then go back to the borders to decide who they are. _

An explosion in the distance and the scream of a Japanese man thrown against an adjacent wall, more than likely caused by a now advancing knightmare frame, interrupted his thoughts, the young boy crouching meekly behind a dumpster. He only periodically dared to slip his head out into the open in order to gauge the situation, from which he garnered a pure slaughter of the clearly outgunned rebel forces. He grimaced heavily, though kept his stomach under control.

"Perhaps not the time to wax philosophic…"

"I'd certainly say not."

He froze, his head turning ever slowly toward the source of the sound, meeting him a pair of blue eyes framed in strands of white hair. She smirked and waved a small hand, crouching down to meet him at eye level. "Hey."

"… Why are you here?"

"I followed you. That _is_ why I'm with you, you know. Entertainment and all."

"I gathered. You watched while I had a knife in my back?"

"It was still pretty fun to watch, so I didn't interfere. You took care of it, anyway, so no problem, right?"

_This bitch…_

His eye twitched. Life truly was a game to this woman, the very essence of it lost on her.

"… Right..."

"Britannia's sudden attack might be more of an issue than Semore's own assault, however."

"Finally we're on the same page."

They waited a few more minutes in silence until the remaining knightmare frames passed, night falling to the point where the glowing brilliance of the newly advanced Tokyo Settlement provided the only light source.

"… By the way,"

_Oh, dear Christ._

"I was confronted by Lelouch's contractor shortly after you left."

… _Not as bad as anticipated._

"… Go on." He kept his voice down, much unlike the girl that spoke as loudly as she pleased, clearly unthreatened by any wandering soldiers or disgruntled Elevens that might have happened to wander by.

"She demanded that we assist in the rescue of Lelouch. Apparently, when he found out about the 'ethnic cleansing,' he ran off to oppose Cornelia."

_Idealistic idiot._

"What does she expect out of us?"

"_She" must be the green haired girl I saw in his dorm. _

"She was vague. More or less she just wants us to keep him alive."

"She expects us to help?"

"Apparently. I told her you wouldn't go for it."

"Indeed."

The conversation seemed to end there. Honestly, why had she expected that they'd be on the same team? Simply because of their mutually assured destruction? Perhaps because of the presumed bond via Geass? Or maybe she'd thought he'd think himself obligated to assist.

_Doesn't she realize that it'd be better for me if Lelouch were to be captured? I have no bond with him, and I certainly don't view him as an ally. Beside that, I'm more concerned with the Britannian armada that's gathered. _

It appeared to Richilieu, after a few uninterrupted minutes of thought, that Britannia was attempting to flush out Zero by recreating the incident at Shinjuku, however, this time with a more militant minded commander, Cornelia, in lieu of the strategically inept artist Clovis.

_If Lelouch is cocky, and he most certainly is, he'll fall right into it._

"C'est la vie. Je suppose c'est 'adieu,' Lelouch." He muttered quietly, peaking yet again around a corner so as to guarantee a lack of Britannian forces and Japanese resistance.

"… You speak French?"

… Had he said that aloud?

"… I'm bilingual. I try not to make much of it. Let's act while there's a lull in action. If we run, I think we can be at the ghetto's perimeter in five, no, make it ten minutes." He was very clearly attempting to change the subject. Semore's attack had brought to the forefront of his mind the rampant racism toward the French that was still very prevalent among Britannians. While it certainly didn't approach the level of hatred inexplicably held for the Japanese, they were still nonetheless bitter, understandably so. Despite his undeniably French name, Richilieu had to remember that to flaunt it was equivalent to putting a target on his back.

Granted, he doubted he could expose himself to much more danger than he was in right now. The realization that this particular area of the Tokyo Settlement was now a warzone finally began to seep in as he dashed out from behind his cover and across the nearest street, the silence now found between he and O.O., as well as the darkness detracting from any visual distractions, augmenting the gunfire and screams of fallen rebels from both near and far. He could place the nearest sounds of combat a mere two streets over; not ten yards from where he and Semore had faced off. Needless to say, he was not in a desirable position. The supposed cover that he had made his mad dash for turned out to be not more than an open clearing, what probably used to be a court yard for an apartment complex. Dust covered the once beautiful garden and filled the once saturated fountain. The entire area was simply barren, a depressing reminder to its Japanese owners of what had once been there.

But of more interest to our protagonist, the openings to the street were numerous, and the cover was scarce. The very opposite of what he had been seeking.

"Dammit…" He muttered, bracing himself against the nearest wall and keeping an eye on the exit to the street opposite of him, peering through the shattered gate to the silhouette of a combating knightmare a few blocks away.

"No… There's two. The terrorists have Sutherlands, just like at Shinjuku…"

"So I guess Lelouch is doing alright on his own." O.O. quipped, nonchalantly crouched against the very same wall. She had conceded to lowering her voice for the current affair, perhaps deeming it necessary to proceed with the game without having a necessary piece unnecessarily killed.

He responded with nothing more than a vague noise of affirmation, opting to keep his eyes trained on the opposing units. Shots were fired, windows blown out due to bullets and shrapnel, blows were traded, slash harkens embedding themselves into armor and concrete, until at last the units danced dangerously near the very apartment complex Richilieu hid at. By this point he and O.O. had relocated to a dark and, hopefully, unnoticed corner, however the advancing units, now plowing through entrances and into the darkened garden, would likely pay their safety no mind, regardless.

The knightmares appeared even larger than what he'd anticipated from his distant vantage point. Having never truly seen one in person, the truly massive, comparatively, four and a half meter machine dwarfed both he and O.O. as it delivered a fatal blow to its opponent. The Sutherland that had entered through what Richilieu could discern as the east gate was completely blindsided by its opponent's forceful impact from the north, the shoulder of the frame colliding with the other's distended cockpit. Steel meeting steel violated the ears of all present, and sparks clashed from the sharp collision of the two forces. The Knightmare didn't appear too heavily damaged, but it was almost immediately clear that the pilot was suffering, as the machine's advance slowed to a halt in the middle of the garden, fact sphere sensors opening up and perpetually beeping; an indicator of the pilot's defeat and his inability to shut them off.

Richilieu honestly couldn't care less about either of the pilots. Indeed, his only concern right now was whether or not the surviving pilot was a Britannian or an Eleven. He manually swallowed, forcibly silencing himself in order to ensure his own survival, beads of sweat running from his forehead into his eyes as the anticipation of their discovery gnawed on his psyche. Would he live? Would he die? He'd already cheated death once this evening; was the grim reaper so incompetent as to allow him to do it again?

O.O.'s concerns were far less practical. After silently clapping at the endeavors of the pilots, likely believing the entire spectacle to be solely for her own amusement, she grunted and stood, leaning against the corner with crossed arms and a lazy expression.

_She's… Standing…_

"O.O.! What the Hell are you doing?" He frantically breathed, urging her to sit back down by pulling on her pant leg. Her response was short.

"Oh, sorry." Her voice was slightly less concealed than before. It was almost as if she wanted to be found out. "Reflex. My legs were cramping."

_Her… Her legs were… You're kidding…_

At that moment, the remaining Sutherland's factspheres opened, flashing in the direction of O.O. and Richilieu. He froze, she meekly ducked. Both realized that they were in a terrible position. A few moments of silence passed before the speakers on the knightmare erupted in a cacophony of what Richilieu believed was Japanese. Evidently the winning party had been the terrorist in the conflict.

_Dammit, I learned a little before coming here so I wouldn't be caught off guard…_

Of course, he only recalled the basest of basic vocabulary. Swallowing and attempting to remain as passive as possible, his hands out to his side and open so as to convey no hostility, standing up in the process. He spoke.

"Ni…" A muttered curse. What was their word for it? "Nihongo… imasen." He finally stated, unsure of whether or not the point had been put across. As far as he was aware, he had just said "Japanese. No." Perhaps the pilot would understand it as that, regardless…

Instead, the Sutherland raised its assault rifle to the two of them, O.O. appearing slightly surprised at the way the situation was heading, and Richilieu's heart simply sinking in his chest, fear and a sense of forlorn hope painting the canvas of his face. This was it. He was to die here. Eleven extremists would go to any lengths to lower the ratio of Britannians to Elevens, and the fact that a language barrier existed made it impossible to convince him otherwise.

"'Not with a bang, but with a whimper.' Right?" His voice shook. There was no sense in keeping up a visage of confidence now.

"Maybe for you…" O.O. muttered in response, out of earshot. She sighed. Her toy hadn't lasted nearly as long as she'd wanted, and she knew that this would void the proverbial warranty.

"Feeruthy Buritanian." This one couldn't speak much of Richilieu's tongue either, it seemed. "Ohpress Japonees ees funno? Bureeng you joy? You die hiah. Nippon banzai!" The trigger pulled, the gun clicked. Nothing. A snap decision was made. Richilieu bolted. To Hell with O.O. To Hell with the Britannian pilot probably dying in his cockpit. To Hell with the idealistic Japanese. He would die here if an escape was not immediately made. And so he ran.

But not where his logic had dictated.

His footfall headed him irreversibly toward the Sutherland still dumbly stuck with its factspheres open. _Toward_ combat. _Toward_ death.

_But why?_

He couldn't question that now. The Eleven, now understanding that his weapon had run out of ammo at a time only Hollywood producers could dictate, instead levered down his landspinners and began a charge at the young boy advancing, wheels screeching and arms swinging down the now relatively useless assault rifle at his miniature form. Richilieu jumped to his side a moment before impact and heard the rush of air blow past him, tumbling on the ground before shortly righting himself. The Sutherland launched past, intending to hit an O.O. that it now found mysteriously missing. A Japanese curse was heard through the speakers, the pilot understandably unconcerned with such trivial concerns of being understood in a time of combat. It spun around quickly, landspinners allowing it a graceful one-eighty. Richilieu, in the meantime, had barely made it to the opposing Sutherland's feet, frantically searching for anything that could be construed as a way up. The Eleven charged again.

"Nippon!"

And failed.

"Banza-" He was immediately cut off by a hail of fire from the southern entrance; the very one that Richilieu's duo had found itself coming through before. The vast majority of the relatively tiny thirty-nine millimeter rounds made a laughable ping on the mech's resistant armor, but the save few that found their mark found it right on.

The factsphere sensor, the most significant part of the knightmare's visual system, had been crippled. The Sutherland veered off course and to the left, stopping short before causing any significant damage. Richilieu, largely ignorant of the surrounding area due to an adrenaline forced focus, at last determined the presence of a minor button hidden under the armor flaps of the Sutherland's left calf. A rope shortly after fell from the cockpit, and the abnormally brazen Frenchman dove for it. He was interrupted before he could grasp what he sought.

"I'm impressed, frog."

Holding an AK-47 and noticeably worn, far more so than when Richilieu had left him in the alley, Semore held a hand out to Richilieu's chest, keeping him from advancing. "I shot out his factsphere sensor. There's no need." He raised the gun to the Eleven's cockpit, simply waiting for it to open. "He can't see, so his next move will be to open the cockpit and eject the roof so that he can pilot it appropriately."

Richilieu merely collapsed, arms and legs shaking as his mind, no longer panicked, shut off the rush of adrenaline. By contrast, Semore was far calmer than he'd been in the alley, seeming to be completely at home in a war zone.

"You fought." He continued, keeping his barrel trained on the cockpit as the hydraulics operated and the back opened up. "I fully expected you to either flee or die trying, but you fought against an enemy that had you outgunned. I've no idea what you are, but you're not the typical Frenchman."

Semore adjusted something on his AK before readjusting his aim and firing as soon as the Eleven's head met open air. Richilieu couldn't be bothered to pay any more attention than that, but a few moments later he was being helped up by his, suddenly friendly, foe, still completely at ease and now unarmed, the gun laying at his side.

"Perhaps you've what it takes to be an honorary Britannian."

Well, the sentiment was nice, even if the implication was more insulting than genuine. Richilieu couldn't be bothered to care as he stood, rubbing at his eyes and half-heartedly glancing around for O.O. She was nowhere to be found, of course, more than likely observing the situation from a safely hidden nook.

"So where'd you come from?" He mindlessly asked, willing to do anything to silence the sounds of warfare in the distance, a dark reminder that their escape wasn't quite yet done, but most vexing, the continual beeping of the still activated factsphere sensor.

"Finding a way out, presumably the same as you, Slippy."

And back to the name calling. His grace was precious and scarce, it seemed.

"And the gun?"

"Courtesy of an Eleven I encountered on the way." His answer was tinted with a bit of irony. It was most likely that the Eleven's courtesy hadn't been voluntary. After a moment of thought, the implications of this set in.

_Wait, he beat a terrorist? One with an AK, at that?_

He refrained from asking any further questions, lest the realization that his escape from Semore might have been more miraculous than his survival of the Sutherland enter his mind.

"Nonetheless, we still need to get out." Richilieu appeared to be regaining his composure, knees beginning to stabilize and hands absentmindedly going over his coat to brush off any dust, imagined or not. Semore's cloak, again, in contrast, looked more than pristine for the occasion.

"Quick recovery for one so faint, Slippy. Nonetheless, you're right." The Britannian boy responded, his eyes going skyward and gazing at the mobile armor before them.

Richilieu, however, kept his eyes parallel, rubbing his temples and muttering reminders to himself, 'don't voluntarily die next time' being the most prominent among them.

"We'll never survive on foot." He finally concluded, saying it to no one in particular.

Semore smirked.

"Put the notion to rest. We're riding out like Britannians."

((So it's been a while. I'll start off by saying that I'm going to try to get in to some semblance of a schedule, probably one chapter every one to two months to keep things ridiculously easy on myself. Aside from that bit of good news, I'd really appreciate some critique on my actual writing style at this point, for anyone who feels they're capable of judging such things. In particular, as I've never really done anything too action-ey before, I'm worried that my choreography is too cut and dry. "The X did Y. He responded with Z." Stuff like that. Anything to make it a more interesting read, I'd go for. I'd really like to improve, and I'm really going to try to make an effort to do that in the coming months. I've finally got a good idea of where I want the story to head in the long term, so hopefully that, combined with some implemented critique on my style, will make everything go a lot faster and end up a lot better. Thanks, and stay classy, folks.))


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